


Every Dumbass, Stupid, Idiot Idea

by Taste_is_Sweet



Series: Self-Sacrifice and Other Idiot Ideas [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Actually hurt everyone, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because Bucky Deserves It, Bucky Barnes Big Birthday Bash, Happy Ending, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, M/M, OTP: Not Without You, OTP: Till the End of the Line, and cake, with hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:06:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6217429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Bucky," Steve said.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"No," Bucky said immediately, because he knew that voice. That was Steve's "I'm not gonna fight you" voice. That was his, "go on, get outta here!" only without the shouting. That was every dumbass, stupid, self-sacrificing idiot idea he'd ever had, distilled into that one word. "No, Steve. Whatever you're thinking. It ain't happening. No fucking way."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Bucky," Steve said again, in that same terrible voice, "I'm…too heavy. M'not…going to let…you die…on your…birthday."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Dumbass, Stupid, Idiot Idea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeaceLily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceLily/gifts).



It was, Bucky thought, pretty fucking rude of people to be yelling at him when he was obviously trying to sleep. The fact it was his goddam birthday just made it worse. He figured he was entitled to one lousy day out of the whole frigging year when he could stay in bed if he wanted, but no. God forbid he kept his eyes closed for two more lousy minutes.

"Unless we're going to Disney World, just leave me the fuck alone," he muttered. Or tried to. His head was at a weird angle and it was hard to speak. All he managed was an inarticulate groan.

It was also kind of hot, and he could smell smoke. A lot of it. And there was something wet on his face. That wasn't right.

He cracked his eyes open, which was a lot harder than he expected. And that was when he realized that most of his upper body was dangling in midair, and it was hot because the fucking underground Hydra base was burning, and Pietro, Clint and Steve had been screaming for him to wake the hell up so he wouldn't _die._

Bucky heaved himself up and lunged for the mangled railing of what had been a perfectly serviceable catwalk before naturally something fucking exploded. Now it was tilted at enough of an angle that there was no question he would have slid all the way off if it wasn't for Clint, who'd managed to hook Bucky's foot with his bow.

"Oh thank God," Steve said in a rush. He was at the farthest corner from the other three of them, no way he could've grabbed Bucky in time, even if it wouldn't have just ended up with him going over the side too.

He didn't look good. It wasn't just the recent terror that'd sucked the blood from his face. He was bleeding. A string of blood dripped down from the side of his mouth, stained burgundy in the flickering light from the flames. He was clutching the railing with one hand and holding his chest with the other. He sounded like he had asthma when he breathed.

His shield was gone, probably far below at the bottom of the impromptu fire pit. Maybe Iron Man or Vision could get it back.

Clint was on his back, gripping the lowest bar with both legs and one elbow, like a sloth. His left forearm was broken, given the bruising and how he wasn't using it. He'd dropped his bow as soon as Bucky grabbed the railing, and he looked like he was trying not to puke. But he still managed a thumbs up and a weak, relieved smile.

Bucky was dizzy and nauseous in that way which could only mean a concussion, and he had a lot of blood in his hair. The rest of him felt okay, though, just bruised. Seemed like his head had taken the brunt of the impact. Steve would likely make a joke about how it was lucky he hadn't hit anything important, except Steve was in no shape to be talking. 

Pietro looked perfectly fine, mostly just pissed off, as if the only reason for the explosion was to annoy him.

"What happened?" Bucky gasped. He tried to edge closer to Steve, but the metal creaked ominously and he stayed put.

"There was a bomb," Pietro said.

"No shit. I meant, where are the guys who set it off? And where's our team? We could use some flyers right now."

"They were on the bridge with us, when they triggered the bomb. They are dead," Pietro said with satisfaction. "In hell with the rest of Hydra."

The bottom of the cavern was looking pretty hellish, Bucky thought. "So that accounts for most of the goons. What about the rest of our team?" 

"No idea. Hopefully they're okay," Clint said. He was holding the railing with his good hand, but tapped his ear to the inside of his elbow. "Radios're out. And if they'd heard us screaming at you they would've come by now."

"Great."

"They'll…be here. Just hold on," Steve said, then coughed. Blood spattered from his mouth like he had tuberculosis. He looked paler when he finished, crimson on his bottom lip and chin.

"Steve!" Bucky tried to reach him again, but this time their makeshift platform creaked and tilted a little further. He snatched at a metal bar in the rock wall that the catwalk had once been securely attached to, managed to snag it with his left hand and grab the platform rail with his right.

The entire thing jiggled when he grabbed it. Clint and Pietro were clinging like monkeys but Steve nearly lost his grip. Bucky yelled and automatically reached for him, then could only scrabble his handhold back when moving made the platform tilt again.

"M'okay," Steve murmured. He used his other hand to laboriously pull himself to a slightly less precarious position, which was closer to Bucky and had to hurt like hell. He unbuckled his helmet with trembling fingers and shoved it off his head. It skidded off the platform and fell into the fire below. "Jus'…little tough to breathe."

"You'd better be okay, punk, or I'll fucking kill you." Bucky had tried for a joke but his voice was shaking too much to sell it. "I will be really, really mad if you fall to your death on my damn birthday. Just saying."

"Noted," Steve wheezed.

"It is not your birthday yet, stop complaining," Pietro said. "What?" He looked affronted when Clint let go with his good hand long enough to smack Pietro's thigh with his knuckles. "We are in Latveria." He shrugged, surprisingly supplely considering how tightly he was holding on. "It is a different time zone."

"Swell," Bucky said. "I want cake when we get out of here. Hey, Steve! You listening over there? Steve!" he added loudly, because Steve looked a little vague around the edges.

"Yeah, sure." Steve turned his head with an effort to grin at him. "You…always…had a…sweet…tooth." There was blood on his teeth.

"Damn right." Bucky craned his neck but all he could see above them was more twisted metal and thick clouds of smoke. If it hadn't been for the fire and his super-soldier eyesight, he wouldn't have been able to see anything at all. There was no sign of any of the other Avengers. "And I want a real cake this time, since we can actually afford it. With frosting."

Steve smirked. "Think I can…manage that."

"Please tell me you aren't going to bake it," Clint said. His voice only sounded a little strained, considering how much effort he was expending to hold on and how much pain he had to be in. "No offence, Steve, but your baking sucks. I mean, I thought Natasha was bad at it. But she's, like, Betty Crocker compared to you."

"Natasha is a good cook," Pietro said, apparently offended on her behalf. "She made the cookies last week. They were delicious."

"Naw. I helped." Clint changed his grip a little, stifled a groan. "Seriously, Steve, you're not going to bake it, are you?"

"Bought…it…already." If Steve knew they were purposely winding him up to keep him mentally present, he still played gamely enough. He coughed again, spit out a dark glob that slid when it hit the metal. Everyone was sweating but Bucky was sure that for Steve it wasn't from the heat. "S'chocolate."

"Damn. I wanted lemon," Bucky said, just to keep Steve talking.

"You…hate—"

The platform creaked and shuddered, then tipped again, pulling unpleasantly at Bucky's arms and making his head ring. He was pretty sure at this point that he was the only thing anchoring the platform to the wall. His shoulders hurt. The smoke was irritating his lungs. "Pietro," he grit out, "you gotta run up there or something. Get help."

"I can't. I need more space than this, to pick up speed. It won't work. I'm sorry." He sounded disgusted with himself, like not being omnipotent was a personal failing.

"Not your fault." The platform shifted again and Bucky couldn't help the groan of effort. He had to be holding well over a thousand pounds, with their combined weight on top of the concrete and steel. He'd moved that much before, but using his whole body. Now the strain was entirely across his upper back and through both arms. He could feel it in his nape like an overstretched elastic band, and it made his head ache like Thor going to town with his hammer on the inside of Bucky's skull. He was worried about his right arm popping out of its socket. His left arm was fine, at least, though he wasn't sure about where it attached to his real bones.

"How long can you keep holding us up?" Clint asked, like he was wondering the same thing.

"As long as I have to."

The platform shifted again, as if the fucking thing heard him and wanted to prove him wrong. Bucky clenched his jaw around a cry of pain, then shut his eyes to stop the world lurching into a spin. Apparently intense physical labor didn't pair well with a concussion. Who knew?

"Bucky," Steve said.

" _No,_ " Bucky said immediately, because he knew that voice. That was Steve's "I'm not gonna fight you" voice. That was his, "go on, get outta here!" only without the shouting. That was every dumbass, stupid, self-sacrificing idiot idea he'd ever had, distilled into that one word. " _No,_ Steve. Whatever you're thinking. It ain't happening. No fucking _way._ "

"Bucky," Steve said again, in that same terrible voice, "I'm…too heavy. M'not…going to let…you die…on your…birthday."

"Fuck you, you're not!" Bucky's left hand was locked, and thank God the bar he held was set deep in the stone because if it broke they were dead. But the next time the platform shifted he could practically hear the tiny ripping noise before he felt the sudden line of warmth from blood collecting along the seam where the metal met the rest of his body. He managed to choke back another cry of pain. It didn't matter. As long as the arm was attached he was going to hold on. "Don't you dare let go, you son of a bitch! Don't you fucking dare!" He had to stop to gulp air through the pain, and then coughed from the smoke, which made the pain worse. "You hear me? It's my birthday, Steve. If you let go now on my fucking _birthday_ I will never forgive you!"

"Don't do it, Steve!" Clint chimed in, then coughed as well. He pulled himself about a foot closer to Steve, but Bucky was between them. The platform creaked and Clint froze. "Seriously, don't let go!"

"It's my birthday," Bucky said again. "Stevie, please."

Steve smiled at him. His eyes were wet. "I love you," he said. "I'm sorry." And he let go.

"No! NO! _NO!_ " Bucky screamed, straining towards Steve with his entire body, even though he didn't reach for him (he couldn't, he couldn't, oh, God), as if his desperation alone could somehow prevent Steve sliding off the end of the platform, stop him from dying. But it didn't.

Pietro did.

He blinked out of and back into existence so fast it was like nothing happened, except Steve was still there. Pietro clutched Steve's shield harness with one hand, his other hand and one leg wrapped desperately around the lower of the two railings. "Help me!" he hissed at any of them.

"I'm trying!" Clint did his sloth-walk thing, grunting in pain every time he moved his broken arm.

The platform shifted ominously. Bucky whimpered.

Clint stopped dead. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! I'm fine," Bucky said quickly. He could feel something give way inside his left shoulder. He couldn't tell if it was machine or flesh but it hurt like hell. He was just glad his uniform wouldn't show the blood. "Get Steve," he panted. "Just get Steve."

"No! Pietro! Damn it! Let me go!" Steve's voice dissolved into a fit of coughing that nearly shook him out of Pietro's hand.

"Shut up!" Bucky yelled at him.

Pietro swore in Sokovian, then gritted his teeth and dragged Steve closer to the rails, until Clint was finally able to snag Steve's harness as well. Bucky kicked out and managed to hook his ankles around Steve's waist and finally pull him snug against the railing. He could hear from Steve's ragged breathing how much it hurt, but Bucky was in a lot of fucking pain too, and he was way too angry to apologize.

Of course, now that the four of them were clustered in the same place, the rail under Bucky's right hand started to warp. If that broke, the only thing keeping Pietro and Clint from dropping about 300 fucking feet into a raging inferno was their single-handed grips on Steve's shield harness, and Bucky's legs wrapped around Steve. It might work, or they all might fucking die.

Pietro started coughing now too. His eyes were streaming from the smoke; Clint wasn't much better. Every one of Bucky's breaths felt like it was tearing his arms off, and Steve…Bucky wasn't sure he was breathing at all.

"Can't…you call your…sister?" he said to Pietro.

"She's not a telepath," Pietro snapped. "She only—" he stopped. "Oh," he said. "Yes. Good idea. Hold him."

He let go of Steve and disappeared again, only to reappear even faster than he had before. He'd taken Bucky's last remaining handgun.

"Pietro, what the fuck are you doing?" Clint demanded.

Pietro took the safety off, then aimed the gun at an angle over his thigh. "Calling my sister," he said, and fired.

"You fucking idiot!" Clint hollered over Pietro's howl of pain. The gun went skidding into the abyss. "You stupid, fucking idiot!" he berated in between fits of coughing. "I swear to God, if you've just killed yourself—!"

Pietro's face had gone white, but he grinned. "You are just angry because I have saved your life again." His words were blurry, accent thickening with pain. Bucky was pretty sure the kid had missed his artery, but there was still a hell of a lot of blood. "Now Wanda will come."

"Don't pass out, you asshole!" Clint yelled. "If you pass out and die I will fucking kill you!"

"Stay with us, Pietro," Bucky said. "Come on, you don't want to make Wanda sad. She's still upset with you from the first time. Pietro?" 'Cause the kid wasn't answering. "Pietro! Wake up!"

"I am awake," Pietro said, and promptly passed out.

"PIETRO!" Clint let go of Steve to reach for him, but there was no point. He was too far away and his bow was long gone. 

Bucky held Steve and watched with numb horror as Pietro's lax body slid inexorably towards the edge of the platform. He was going to fall, just like Bucky would have, or Steve. Only this time there was no one who could save him—

Steve slapped his hand around Pietro's ankle just as Wanda, Vision and Iron Man came swooping in like multicolored angels.

* * *

Bucky glanced up when Steve opened the door to their balcony, then looked away again, over the expanse of this new but still-familiar city. It was unseasonably warm, but the clouds overhead promised rain. He wrapped his left arm around his knees and leaned against the wall of their building Avengers Tower might epitomize what was best and worst about New York all at once, but it sure offered one hell of a view.

"How's the arm?"

"Which one?"

"Both."

Bucky shrugged, which was far easier with his left than his right. "Tony finished the repairs this morning. Doc says another day and the rips and stress fractures where it attaches will've healed. Right'll take a couple more days. Didn't know you'd be allowed out of the infirmary yet."

"Technically, I probably shouldn't be." That made Bucky look at him again, but other than his pallor and moving slowly, Steve seemed okay. Bucky had seen him in worse shape loads of times, pretty much always after starting a fight with some asshole three times his size.

Now was not an especially good time to be thinking about that. Bucky looked away again. "Why the hell are you here, then?"

He could practically hear Steve's grimace. "I was trying to find you."

"I'm right here. Nearly couldn't say that about you, though."

"I know. That's why I left the infirmary. I'd wanted to talk to you when you came to visit today, but you didn't."

"Nope." Bucky popped the 'P'. "Really didn't feel like talking. Still don't," he added, pointedly.

Of course Steve ignored that. He came out onto the balcony and sat next to Bucky, who tried not to react at how Steve's breath hitched when he moved that much. But Bucky shuffled closer so they were touching all along their sides. Because it was a little chilly.

"I'm not going to apologize for my decision," Steve said. Bucky gritted his teeth and stared stonily at the skyline. "I can't. But I do want to apologize for upsetting you. You know—"

"Upsetting me?" Bucky burst out. "You're apologizing for _upsetting_ me?" He gaped at Steve. "It was my birthday, Steve! It was my fucking birthday and you almost died! Because you let go! You _let go!_ And I couldn't…." He looked away, teeth bared and breathing like he'd just come from a fistfight. "You would've died."

"Yeah," Steve said simply. "And if there'd been any other way, I would've—"

" _There was another way!_ Of course there was another way!" Bucky shouted. "That's why we're all still here, you asshole! You would've died for nothing!"

"I didn't know Pietro was going to shoot himself! Or that it would actually accomplish anything!" Steve said. "Did you?" he demanded. "Did you know there was a way out before he did that?"

Bucky forced himself to relax his jaw before his teeth cracked. "I would've held on as long as I had to."

"I know," Steve said simply. "I know you would've. And we all would've died when your handhold broke."

"Not me." Bucky had spent enough time imagining it. How the bar in his right hand would have bent until it snapped, or the weakened platform would've given way. Him watching as his friends and the man he loved dropped out of sight. It would probably fuel his nightmares for years, as if he didn't have enough already.

"Including you." Steve nodded when Bucky frowned at him. "Tony said it would've been a tossup between what failed first—the bracket in the wall or the platform railing. He figured that with all our weight pulling on one small area, that it would've been the bracket."

"Oh." Bucky wasn't stupid, so he didn't say what he was thinking: _well, that would've been okay, then_. "You didn't know that."

"No," Steve agreed readily enough. "But I didn't need to. I wasn't willing to risk it. Not for my teammates, and especially not for you."

Bucky dragged his right hand down his face, ignoring the unpleasant twinge when he used his arm. "Great. So you didn't want to risk it. And then what the fuck was I supposed to do without you?"

"Live."

"I wouldn't've wanted to!" Bucky smacked his left hand against the balcony floor and regretted it immediately. He wasn't quite healed enough for dramatics.

"You have to!" Steve yelled, then started coughing. Bucky reached for him, then let Steve hold on until he could breathe normally again. "Ow." He leaned his head against Bucky's chest. "'Forgot how much coughing like that could hurt."

Bucky carded his fingers through Steve's hair. "You don't understand. I can't lose you."

"The hell I don't understand," Steve wheezed. "You think I can lose you?" He lifted his head, expression both fierce and imploring. "Our job is incredibly dangerous. We can't afford to be careful, because if we are people might die. But I can't do it, if I'm worried about what'll happen to you if…if I don't make it. I can't be Captain America and worry about you."

"I never wanted you to be Captain America."

"I know," Steve said. "I didn't either. But this is what I am. I can't change it, and I wouldn't even if I could. We're soldiers, Buck. And sometimes soldiers die."

"And that's supposed to make everything all right?" Bucky demanded. "You throw yourself on another fucking grenade and it's somehow okay because we're soldiers?"

"It's not supposed to make anything all right," Steve said. "It's just the truth." He put his hand on the side of Bucky's head, smiling at him in the way that always broke Bucky's heart. "If it'd been you there on the platform and me trying to hold it up, would you have done anything different?"

Bucky looked away, his jaw working as he swallowed. "No."

"I know." Steve moved that much closer, taking Bucky in his arms. "I know you'd have done exactly the same thing. And I would've hated you for it. Just like it's one of the reasons I love you."

Bucky hugged him back as hard as he dared without hurting him. "I love you too."

"Thank you."

"You're still a fucking asshole."

He felt Steve smile against his cheek. "I'm willing to accept that."

"Good." Bucky sighed, melting against him. It felt like he could finally relax for the first time in days. "My birthday really sucked."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that." Steve kissed his temple. "But Pietro told me that in Sokovia they go by someone's birth week, not day. So you can celebrate your birthday at any time."

Bucky snorted. "That's bullshit."

"Yes it is." Steve chuckled. "But he was really happy when I pretended to believe him. He also ate your birthday cake."

Bucky snapped his head up. "All of it?"

Steve nodded, then tilted his head as he considered. "Well, Wanda had a piece, I think. And Tony had at least two."

"You let Pietro and Tony eat my cake?"

Steve shrugged. "It would've gone stale. And Tony got my shield back, so I figured I owed him. And Pietro's leg is healing so he needs the calories. Oh," Steve added happily, "apparently we both missed his and Clint's latest screaming argument about Pietro's inability to avoid getting shot."

"Damn. That would've been entertaining." Bucky huffed irritably. "Now I really want cake."

"Actually," Steve drawled, "I might be able to do something about that."

Bucky perked up immediately. "You got me another cake?"

Steve grinned. "Well, it is your birthday week in Sokovia."

Bucky let go of Steve and leapt to his feet, then helped Steve get to his. "Why didn't you say so? I wouldn't've yelled at you if I knew you had cake."

"I'll have to remember that the next time you're angry." Steve put his arm around Bucky's shoulders, still moving a little cautiously. "Bring you cake and I can get away with anything."

"You can always get away with anything," Bucky said. It came out a lot more seriously than he'd intended. He cleared his throat. "But, y'know, cake makes it easier."

"And God knows nothing with me is easy." There was a smile in Steve's voice, but Bucky would have bet anything he'd said that a lot more seriously than he'd intended to as well.

"Damn right," Bucky said, holding Steve close. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> My second time contributing to Bucky's Birthday Bash! With huge thanks to [Lazulisong](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lazulisong) for starting this celebration last year, and to the superb [Squeaky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Squeaky) for the super-quick beta so I'd actually get this up before midnight where I live. :D
> 
> I also want to give Credit of Awesome to [PeaceLily](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceLily/pseuds/PeaceLily), because this story was entirely inspired by [this comment](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/54400531) she made on the previous fic in this series. Thank you! 
> 
> (Come hang with me on [Tumblr!](http://taste-is-sweet.tumblr.com/) Where I'm currently freaking out about the _CA: Civil War_ movie. Or you can find out more about me [here](https://about.me/aundreasinger).) :)


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